I've been drawing all my life and started painting twenty years ago, when I met my husband; that's when I note the color came into my life. Growing up watching my mother and grandmother draw and paint, I couldn't help but feel compelled to do the same. My grandmother was a great artist and she taught me the safety of wordlessness. Ours was not the perfectly happy home. I found my safety in silence to protect my core and clung to the shadows, not to be noticed. Being wordless all those years, stored up many mystified feelings, which I now express in poetry and which explains why many of my figure's mouths are painted, expressly open. I now have something to say. We moved incredibly over the years, sometimes two or three times a year. This Nomadic lifestyle would move me eighteen times before I reached the ripe age of fifteen. This taught me many things; versatility, adaptation, organization and mutability. These have all been carried over to my work and because they are the underpinnings of creativity, they helped me break out of each box I would later put myself in.
My grandmother was married to a Native man, a very politically incorrect thing to do back then, plus he was catholic which did not mix with her religion. Mixing was politically incorrect and so it was all hidden truth. " No Need to Hide" speaks to this truth. We also did not know of her firstborn son, who became part of another's family and because a boy was pretty useful on a farm, she was unable to get him back. My Uncle would finally find us in 1994 and tell me my grandfather was part Ojibwe, Sioux, Cree, Chipewyan, Montagnaise and French making us Metis.
I embraced this with everything I almost owned. My grandmother's lessons were silent but strong. She lived with us and basically raised me, and she would hint at this truth many times. I became her young confidant. She told me many things indirectly. She taught me native ways without ever giving away her secret, and the only way I can explain this is that she sewed it on the inside of my heart so I could feel it, though I could not see it. And so for years I carried unspoken truths loosely in my heart. She picked up the pieces of a tumultuous season and showed me her backbone. She taught me her connection to nature and my wolf side. She brought me outside and showed me how to be in her landscape for her landscape was a breathing pulsing spirit. She wrote poetry that I never read till much later in my life, about how her heart ached for her young son and she cried it out in silent words on paper. She passed away in 1984. She never did meet her grownup son. I learned to search for meaning and take a deeper look inside to find my truths.
My father died last year and he taught me fire's full circle. For I only grew to have a wonderful relationship with him after escaping mute from his hot house. It was through his love and sharing that I found my strength to see his other side, and understand his heat. He also taught me to work hard and harder still. He taught me beauty and order as a discipline. He was an artist although I never knew it. He taught me harmony with men completing the circle of fire. Dying has taught me the meaning of irreplaceable and forever.
Now I have a wonderful family of my own replete with two beautiful boys. I am rich. I teach them all the lessons I learned from a broken family. For all my pain I am richer for the knowledge. We have a cabin on 10 acres in a mix of tall Pines, Birch and wetlands, on a small lake, two and a half hours North of Toronto. Nothing can compare to the earth's spirit. In "Lessons of a Mother", 'That part' I refer to, returns when I return. It is there that I know peace and it is there that I fear loss. It is only there, that I am more deeply aware of what we've lost in the cities and what trickles out of the cities taints every part of earth that is irreplaceable and should be forever. It has taught me that we must re-order our priorities of the earth before taking anymore from her.
I studied at the Ontario College of Art. But the most profound lessons were searched for and found steeped in the relations to life and the years contemplating their fires. These are the riches I pour into my paintings. It is this bittersweet voice I hear with, I paint with and I write with, that keeps me grounded and focused. They become the colors I see with. I welcome you to this deeper look inside.
I've been drawing all my life and started painting twenty years ago, when I met my husband; that's when I note the color came into my life. Growing up watching my mother and grandmother draw and paint, I couldn't help but feel compelled to do the same. My grandmother was a great artist and she taught me the safety of wordlessness. Ours was not the perfectly happy home. I found my safety in silence to protect my core and clung to the shadows, not to be noticed. Being wordless all those years, stored up many mystified feelings, which I now express in poetry and which explains why many of my figure's mouths are painted, expressly open. I now have something to say. We moved incredibly over the years, sometimes two or three times a year. This Nomadic lifestyle would move me eighteen times before I reached the ripe age of fifteen. This taught me many things; versatility, adaptation, organization and mutability. These have all been carried over to my work and because they are the underpinnings of creativity, they helped me break out of each box I would later put myself in.
I embraced this with everything I almost owned. My grandmother's lessons were silent but strong. She lived with us and basically raised me, and she would hint at this truth many times. I became her young confidant. She told me many things indirectly. She taught me native ways without ever giving away her secret, and the only way I can explain this is that she sewed it on the inside of my heart so I could feel it, though I could not see it. And so for years I carried unspoken truths loosely in my heart. She picked up the pieces of a tumultuous season and showed me her backbone. She taught me her connection to nature and my wolf side. She brought me outside and showed me how to be in her landscape for her landscape was a breathing pulsing spirit. She wrote poetry that I never read till much later in my life, about how her heart ached for her young son and she cried it out in silent words on paper. She passed away in 1984. She never did meet her grownup son. I learned to search for meaning and take a deeper look inside to find my truths.
Now I have a wonderful family of my own replete with two beautiful boys. I am rich. I teach them all the lessons I learned from a broken family. For all my pain I am richer for the knowledge. We have a cabin on 10 acres in a mix of tall Pines, Birch and wetlands, on a small lake, two and a half hours North of Toronto. Nothing can compare to the earth's spirit. In "Lessons of a Mother", 'That part' I refer to, returns when I return. It is there that I know peace and it is there that I fear loss. It is only there, that I am more deeply aware of what we've lost in the cities and what trickles out of the cities taints every part of earth that is irreplaceable and should be forever. It has taught me that we must re-order our priorities of the earth before taking anymore from her.
